


i would ruin myself (a million little times)

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, andrew and mel like musicals apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Of course it's the golden boy that wants to take Melinda to homecoming, Phil muses. But if anything, it's nice that it's Andrew Garner -- because it sure as hell would never be him.
Relationships: Phil Coulson & Andrew Garner & Melinda May, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 37
Kudos: 74





	i would ruin myself (a million little times)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrokenBookAddict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenBookAddict/gifts).



> based off of the prompt "you're jealous, aren't you?" and "nobody could ever make me feel the way you do" for @brokenbookaddict on tumblr -- thanks so much for the prompt!

Of  _ course  _ it’s the golden boy. 

Of course it’s the golden boy, Phil thinks to himself. Andrew Garner could never be anything else: star receiver on the football team, captain of the academic decathlon, most likely to succeed beyond any of their wildest dreams. It makes sense, really, that it’s River’s End High’s absolute golden boy that’s the one that’s currently chatting up his best friend. 

It still doesn’t mean Phil’s stomach isn’t allowed to twist like taffy whenever he sees them together. 

“Andrew Garner, that is the  _ worst  _ joke I have ever heard and you know it,” he hears before Andrew himself rounds the corner flanked by none other than his best friend Melinda. She’s beautiful, as always, he realizes belatedly: jet-black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, maroon cable-knit sweater stretching slightly over her hands (they had to be slightly longer in case she ever needed to slap someone with them, she argued) and well-fitted jeans. It’s not even the first time he’s seen her today, but the sight of her punches him in the face as if he’s seeing her for the first time. “Hey, Phil,” Melinda offers him an easy grin, reaching into her locker to pull out a few notebooks. She frowns when her greeting garners no response, closing the door to wave a notebook in Phil’s face. “Yo. Phil. Phiiiiiil.” 

“Wha?” Disappointingly, Phil is pulled out of a brief (yet fascinating) fantasy where he’s somehow found the guts to confess his feelings. Or his jealousy, at the very least. “Sorry, Mel,” he says, shaking his head. “Must’ve spaced out. What did you say?” 

“Andrew and I were gonna go for fro-yo after we slogged through Weaver’s assignment at mine,” Melinda explains, and he hates the glimmer of concern that’s in her eyes. It means she already knows too much, and had they not been in public, he was sure she would’ve let loose the million other questions on the tip of her tongue. “You wanna come?” 

Phil shakes his head, missing the crinkle that flashes across her forehead. “Sorry, Mel. Calderon’s drowning us in readings today. Don’t think I can make it.” At least it’s an accurate pity excuse, if not a bit sad – the amount of readings he has to do for his history class is astronomical, and he’ll likely be up to his eyeballs in homework, if not further. He shoots Andrew and Melinda a sheepish grin, hoping his perceived guilt bleeds freely through his expression. “Rain check?” 

“Raincheck,” Melinda says, narrowing her eyes. “But you’re coming out with us next time, okay?” She doesn’t see enough of Phil these days – between their multiple college tours each and the amount of homework they’re being piled with, she gets lucky if she can squeeze in a five-minute conversation with him between classes. 

They’re  _ neighbors _ .  _ Actual  _ property neighbors. And yet, she can’t quite fathom how she sees the stray cat that she’s sure occupies the abandoned property at the end of the street more than she’s seen Phil nowadays. It’s not a particularly fun thing to think about, to be honest. There’s not a lot of time in their high school careers left, and if she rides this entire roller coaster called public school only to lose her best friend at the end of it, will any of what comes after it be worth it? 

She can’t quite imagine not living next to Phil Coulson – hell, she can’t imagine living without him, period. And even though it’s something Melinda knows she’s going to have to start learning how to do  _ real  _ soon, she’d rather not do so anytime soon. 

“PBS is airing their taped copy of  _ Six  _ next week,” Andrew is saying to Phil, who’s nodding. “We can split a pizza or something, yell at it for historical inaccuracies?” 

“I heard there aren’t a lot, but I’m down,” Plans are made, goodbyes said and Phil’s cheery demeanor drops almost as soon as their backs are turned. Melinda’s laugh floats back into his ears one last time, a cruel, tantalizing teaser of what could have been before he sighs and exits the school himself, the  _ rat-a-tat  _ of the rain pounding on his umbrella a perfect cursor to his mood. 

Of  _ course _ it’s Andrew Garner, Phil muses once more. He should be so lucky for it to be anyone less. 

* * *

_ Click. Click. Click.  _ Three short flashes, one after another – their code for inquiring if the other’s free. Phil sighs when he sees the beam of light slip through his window, closing his history textbook and flashing his light once in return –  _ yes, meet you out on the balcony in five. _ He’s not sure whether he’s fully prepared for the possible pop quiz Calderon will probably spring on them, but he’s never been one to say no to the three-flash inquiry – in their entire friendship, he’s only said no twice: once immediately following the death of his grandfather and when he’d been on a date with Izzy Hartley in the seventh grade.

Their balcony is truly an alcove to escape from the world: after a joint agreement between both households at the tender age of six so that their children would stop risking their lives simply to bask in each others’ presences, a small footbridge was built between the May and Coulson houses. 

It’s a small haven, a home away from home: while the back wall is completely solid, the front is made almost entirely of a window, three large panes encompassing the length of the bridge and providing them with an unparalleled view of the street. Just under them is a bookshelf that also spans the length of the bridge, allowing them to store everything from a box for their mutual snacks to board games they use to while away the endless summer days. Closer to Melinda’s end is a small black water kettle and two mugs, one with a Captain America shield and the other simply black; under it sits a small box, filled to the brim with tea steepers, her loose-leaf tea blends and a few small jars of instant coffee. A few strands of white fairy lights weave among the pictures of themselves nailed into the wall over the years, their adoration of each other evident to all. Among it all, two saucer chairs sit lone in the corridor, their colors matching both the mugs and their occupant’s personalities. 

“I thought you were going to fro-yo with Andrew.” Either that, or he’d severely misjudged the amount of time he’d spent trying to finish all of Calderon’s readings. “You’re back early.” 

The look Melinda gives him warns him of the bite in his tone, and it’s with guilt that he realizes the remark had been filled with an accusation – of what, he couldn’t tell her – and that it hadn’t been taken well. “Andrew had to pick his sister up from play practice,” she says lightly, and her maroon sweater bunches up around her wrists as she curls up into her chair. “We missed you during Weaver’s hell, though.” 

He very much doubts that, doubts that the two of them had even spared a single thought towards him during that study session, but forces himself to nod along anyways for Melinda’s sake. “Yeah. Sorry about that, Calderon’s readings really just couldn’t wait.” 

She studies him then, a slight tilt of the head and a gaze that scans him like a metal detector at the airport before blinking with a softening expression. “You okay, Phil?” 

“Never better, Mel.” He knows she’s dying to ask about his space-out earlier today and watches her carefully, wondering if she’ll make the move to. “Why d’you ask?” 

“I haven’t seen you much lately, it feels like,” she says, transferring her gaze from his face to the heavy drizzle of rain still occurring outside. It’s soothing, the repetitive fall of water against the ground, and provides a nice breaker to what would have otherwise been a tensely-strung silence. “You’re my best friend.” The tone is nonchalant, words carefully placed to not set off the wrong reaction. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay, that’s all.” 

_ It’s exactly the problem,  _ he wants to tell her.  _ The problem is that I’m your best friend. Your best  _ friend. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little out of it these days,” he offers instead, reaching to play gently with the sweater sleeves stretched over her hands. Somehow, his fingers end up finding hers, and he gives her hand a quick squeeze. Their eyes meet, blue versus brown in a hardened battle of wills, and it takes everything Phil has to not look away. To do so would indicate that he was hiding something – and if he hides any more from Melinda, she’s going to start probing. “Junior year, y’know?” 

“I do know,” Melinda says, and if anything, his offhanded reply has only furthered her suspicion. “I’m going through it too, Phil. I just want you to know that you don’t have to go through it alone.” 

He highly doubts she’s also in love with her best friend – as one casually is, obviously – but he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. It’s nice to know she’ll have his back, even though it’s for a secret she’ll never get to know. “Thanks, Mel,” he says, and the smile he gets in returns he swears is bright enough to chase away the rain outside their footbridge. “And I promise if anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.” 

* * *

“Wait, wait, wait, hang on,” Andrew holds up a hand as the musical shifts numbers, giving Phil an apologetic grin. “This is my favorite part.” He watches as Andrew launches into a word-for-word rendition of Angelica’s monologue from  _ Satisfied _ , and it doesn’t escape Phil that the chain of events so rapidly depicted in the song are too similar to his own. 

Granted, there are a few differences – Andrew and Melinda had met each other in the back seats of Hand’s biology class sophomore year rather than via introduction by Phil, and rapid-fire debater or not, Melinda is  _ much  _ prettier than the ten-dollar founding father without a father. But that’s just his opinion. 

Still, he lets out a clap when Andrew finishes the rap, the aforementioned musical theater aficionado taking a mock bow before they settle into the rest of the musical. “You know, Mel really likes  _ Come From Away _ ,” he finds himself volunteering, and Andrew turns to him like Phil’s just told him Lin Manuel Miranda’s on his doorstep. He’s not sure why he’s telling Andrew this – if he wants to date Melinda, things like that are things he needs to find out on his own time. 

He wants to see Melinda happy – that’s always been a nonstarter. And Phil has  _ long  _ well accepted that the person she’ll be happy with isn’t him. So if he can at least guarantee it’s Andrew...it’s a solace, he supposes. Better the devils you knew and all that. Except Andrew Garner was the furthest thing from a devil, a fact that never fails to be a dull thorn in Phil’s side. 

“I love that musical!” Andrew exclaims, and while Phil’s stomach squeezes, he manages to bring up a weak smile. “Wait, you think she’ll be impressed if I invite her over to watch a bootleg copy?” 

“Never know unless you try,”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Andrew nods solemnly, the pretense lasting another minute before he’s sighing, leaning to pause the stream. “Phil. Can I ask you something?” 

This was it, wasn’t it? The last goodbye to even the smallest of his chances. “Shoot.”

“You and Mel have been friends forever.”  _ Since we were five,  _ Phil thinks,  _ and Mel kicked Jasper Sitwell down the slide because he’d poured juice on me at lunch.  _ “And me and Mel...well, we haven’t been friends that long. Not like you two.” 

“Doesn’t mean you’re any less of a friend to us.” And despite the unspoken (existent?) triangle that laid between them, it was true. It had been a bit surprising at first, the star receiver engaging with them on the regular, but the addition of Andrew to their little rapport had been easy. “If we hated you, you definitely would know by now, trust me.” But again – it was impossibly hard to hate a man that made historical fantasy football teams with him and would debate loose-leaf tea versus teabags with Melinda until he was blue in the face. 

“While that wasn’t what I was looking for, I’m glad to hear that,” Andrew chuckles, letting it peter out before scratching at the back of his neck. “I, uh. I want to ask Mel out. To homecoming.” And there it was. “I know she’s not really into big asks, but I want to do something that she’ll remember, y’know?” A self-deprecating chuckle. “And I was wondering if you had any good ideas. You guys have been best friends for what, twelve years now?” 

“Twelve years,” Phil agrees, and honestly, Andrew made the right move coming to him. Whether he knew Phil was hopelessly in love with Melinda or not, coming to the person closest to her was smart. “Mel’s a sucker for handwritten things,” he says, and thinks of the years of birthday cards and letters and postcards, all of them filled with his handwriting and tacked to Melinda’s wall. “Cards especially. Bonus points if you can get a bad pun on it. She loves those.” The cards on Melinda’s wall are filled with Andrew’s handwriting, now, slowly replacing the love and dedication Phil’d poured into every word. Each metaphorical card taken down is like a lance to the heart, but despite it, he knows he has to keep talking. “If you leave a handwritten card in her locker, I’m sure she’ll love it.” There. That was enough, surely. 

“I want you to know she’s more than a pretty face to me, Phil,” Andrew says, and while it is something Phil’s known for a while (he wouldn’t have accepted anything less), it’s refreshing to hear every so often. “Melinda’s...she’s so much, in the best way.” Phil nods. Andrew’s about to spout out the equivalent of his daily inner monologue, if not on a slightly shallower level, and he knows from experience it can be a little overwhelming. “She’ll be whip-smart with a joke and find innuendo in a diner menu –” Both of them grinned at the incident. “– but then you can have the deepest conversations about life and death and everything in between with her. For hours, man. You could talk to her for hours and still come away wanting more. And that’s...I don’t know, man. She’s the only girl I’ve ever found that in, you know?” 

Oh, he knew. If only Andrew knew that he knew. “Yeah.” 

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay if I asked her to homecoming,” Andrew tells him, and there’s a vise around every ventricle of his heart when he nods, but he manages to do it. “You’re her best friend. You mean the world to her.” 

“Shoot your shot, man.”  _ Say all the things I never could. One of us has to.  _ “I think you’ll make it.” He would never be satisfied, but at least they would be. 

* * *

It’s another rainy afternoon on their footbridge (October this year’s been particularly stormy, something that the both of them appreciate) when Melinda brings it up. “Maria Hill wants to ask you to homecoming.” She says it plainly, lightly, as if she’s asking Phil for a bag of chips from the snack bin. “Rumor has it she and Sharon Carter are mad at each other because they both want to.” 

“I’m just breaking hearts left and right,” he deadpans, and she snorts, turning another page from her book. “Who told you about Maria and Sharon?”

“Bobbi.” Melinda’s kettle begins to bubble merrily, and Phil gets up, crossing over the bridge to fill both of their mugs. Today, his is filled with an apricot black tea while a few jasmine balls steep in hers. “You should think about it, Phil,” she calls, and he barely avoids spilling scalding hot water on his hand. “At least pick someone so they can all stop thinking they have a chance.” 

“You know I’m not looking right now, Mel.” She accepts the steaming mug of tea with a serene smile before picking up her book once more. “Besides, don’t you think I would’ve asked one of them out by now if I was?” 

She shrugs, the beginnings of a smirk pulling up at the right side of her face. “I don’t know, Phil. I always thought you were planning to travel back in time so you could marry Amelia Earhart or something.” 

“Hey!” 

“Sorry,” she says, but mirth dances in her eyes with another sip of tea. “But really, what’s stopping you from looking? I’ve seen you go on maybe like, three dates since we met. And it’s been twelve years, Phil. You date at the rate of the summer Olympics. Think about that.” 

_ Everything I want is right in front of me.  _ “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just waiting for the right person,” he offers, taking a sip of his tea. Melinda had brewed it strong, the barest hint of apricot pushing through the frenzy of the black tea leaves. “Besides, I could say the same for you. Except I’m pretty sure you date at the rate we change seats in the Senate. Think about  _ that _ .” Although that would change shortly, he supposed. 

“Not my fault 90% of the men here are trying to up their body counts before college,” Melinda counters, and he has to admit, that’s fair. “I think I’ll wait to meet someone that doesn’t think their favorite keg stand position is a personality trait.” 

“I heard someone’s planning to ask you to homecoming.”  _ That  _ gets her attention, and the book is practically shoved aside in favor of a full-on glare. “Can’t say who, though. Gotta keep the suspense somehow.” 

“Philip J. Coulson, you tell me  _ right  _ now.” He has the upper hand for the moment, smirking despite all of the heartbreak that’s led up to the reveal. “You tell me right now, so help me I’ll tell Maria  _ and  _ Sharon you want to take them to homecoming –” 

“No-ope!” If it’d been anyone else but Andrew, Phil suspects he wouldn’t have had as much fun. “C’mon, Mel. Homecoming is five days away. They  _ have  _ to have asked you by then.” 

“Yeah, and we need to coordinate corsages and transportation and pictures!” Melinda exclaims; realizing an angry approach won’t work, she switches to a pout instead, putting the full force of wide doe eyes onto him. “You’re practically saving him a step, you don’t think he’d be grateful to know he wouldn’t have to go through all of that? Plus, what if it’s one of the Ward brothers, you  _ know  _ I hate the Ward brothers. C’mon, Phil!” 

“It’s not the Ward brothers.” At that, Melinda lets out a sigh of relief and collapses back into her chair. “Unless…” 

It’s almost worth it to watch her straighten back up. “No.” 

“No,” She sinks back into the chair, shooting him a final glare before picking her book back up. “I promise it’s gonna be someone you like, Mel. I do.” The second-best choice if it couldn’t be him. “You’re gonna love me for not telling you, you really are.” 

“Dumbass,” She doesn’t look at him or up from her book, but he knows she’s smiling. “I already love you, you know that.” Every fiber in Phil’s being seizes in excitement at that, and it takes everything he has not to move a single muscle. It takes a second for his brain to kick in after the initial hit, and when it does, it’s a heavy downpour of  _ as friends, as friends, as friends  _ that effectively douse the fire. (Really, he’s not sure why he reacts the way he does at that still – he’s lost count of the number of times Melinda’s said it, yet the same thing happens every time.) “As long as it’s not the Ward brothers, I  _ guess  _ I can handle it.” 

“Well, if you have a date then I should probably get one too. I  _ guess _ .” The last word is drawn out with a drawl similar to Melinda’s, and she shoots him an eye-roll before he pulls out his phone. “And no, I’m not telling you who I’m taking.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Phil. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

By some spectacular miracle, he misses the verbal blowout that is the (temporary, he assumes) destruction of Maria and Sharon’s friendship. It’s all anyone can talk about for the rest of the day, which means by the time Phil and Maria are allowed to break off into pairs during last period, the latter’s eyes are red. “It’s a little bullshit, especially because Sharon knew I didn’t want to actually date you,” she admits, and he casts her a sympathetic but surprised look. “You’re a good guy, Phil. But we were ever only going to be friends.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“How long have we been friends?” They’d met in the third grade, sticky-handed and covered in ink from an exploding pen; it isn’t as long as his friendship with Melinda, Phil realizes, but eight years is still significant. “I know you, Phil. Even when we met and I had that tiny crush on you, I realized you were only ever going to be in love with one person.”

“Please don’t say Amelia Earhart.” He’d never live that down if it were true. 

Maria just gives him a strange look. “No,” she answers, her confusion evident. “Melinda. You’ve been in love with Melinda for as long as I’ve known you. Probably longer, honestly.”    
“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that.” It’s a weight Phil didn’t even know he was carrying, and to have someone other than the inner voice in his head acknowledge it lifts the weight from his shoulders like it’s that of the world. “I always thought I’d die alone without anyone to tell.” 

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t count out the die alone part.” A loud peal of laughter rings out from the other end of the classroom, and both of them turn to see Melinda guffawing heartily, grabbing onto Andrew’s arm while struggling to catch her breath. Phil’s gaze remains on them long after the initial diversion is over, his expression forlorn and despondent. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

It takes Phil a few minutes to reboot his internal hard drive, but when he does, his expression’s gone from ‘all-is-lost’ to recovery mode. “There’s nothing I can do about it,” he answers, though his lips are thin. “He likes her a lot, Maria. And Andrew’s a good guy. I can’t think of anyone better that I’d want to shoot their shot.” 

Maria groans, half in sympathy and half in exasperation. Men were plenty stupid sometimes, she was realizing. “Tell me you didn’t advise him on how to ask her to homecoming. Tell me, Phil.  _ Tell me  _ you didn’t.” 

“She’s not gonna find out.” Phil waves a hand. “They’re good friends. The way he’s gonna do it is common knowledge.” 

“Have you  _ seen  _ a teenage rom-com in the last ten years?” Maria gripes. “That’s always how the girl finds out! I would know! I am a girl! My life’s playing out like the bad part of a rom-com right now!” 

_ “She’s not gonna find out _ .” 

“Whatever you say, man.” Maria pats his shoulder. “But uh, maybe you should stop staring? That would probably keep her from finding out.” 

Phil jerks, only then realizing the extent of the work in front of them. “Oh. Yeah.” He offers Maria a sheepish smile. What a pair the two of them made at the moment – the girl who’d lost her best friend and the guy who’d lost the love of his life. “And thanks, Maria. It was nice to tell someone.” 

Maria smiles back at him, the expression somehow oddly haunted for one of joy. “You too, Phil.” She leans in for a hug then, and both of them take a quiet, platonic moment of solace in the contact, two worlds rocked by the currents of the people around them.

Four tables over, Melinda stares, an unreadable expression on her face. “You okay, Mel?” Andrew asks, touching her arm lightly, and she jumps. “Pretty cool Phil and Maria are going to homecoming together, right?” He hopes Melinda’s not upset about the prospect – it would drastically reduce the impact of the gesture he’s about to carry out. 

“Yeah,” Melinda answers, her voice somewhat still far away despite her gaze fully back on Andrew. Internally, her stomach is tossing around the pita she’d had at lunch, a chunk or two of falafel threatening to make a gory return. “I told him to ask her out in the first place,” she says again, except he’s not sure whether she’s trying to convince him or herself. “I’m glad he took my advice to start dating.” 

She just wonders why she feels so  _ awful  _ about it.

* * *

Melinda’s locker is always a crowd after school: on top of their regular trio, a little gaggle forms there like clockwork every day after school, its giggly freshmen all desperate to get a glimpse of the famed Andrew Garner. He doesn’t seem to mind much, always allowing for a few pictures and conversations before it disperses for the afternoon. 

Today is no different; Phil and Maria, who’d wanted to be there for the grand reveal, lean against the neighboring lockers attempting to carry on at least a front of a conversation while they watch with bated breath. When the fated card finally falls out, Maria squeezes Phil’s shoulder in support as his breath catches in his chest. 

It’s written in Andrew’s impeccable handwriting, and by the way Melinda exhales forcefully a few times, he can tell there are some well-placed jokes in there. Even from his cut-off point of view, Phil can tell the card is full, and he watches as a full-blown smile works its way onto her face, eyes sparkling with mirth at each carefully-scrawled line of humor. 

He used to be the only one able to do that. 

A part of him had thought, no,  _ hoped  _ that the gesture in itself would fall flat and Melinda would gently do her best to let Andrew down, but as she closes the card and turns back to him with a goofy grin, Phil’s stomach begins the slow slide into nothingness, the roaring cheers from the crowd that’s surrounded them muting somewhat only to be replaced by a slow ringing. 

He’s weaving through the crowd before he’s even aware of what he’s doing, muttering excuses to upper and underclassmen alike before he’s out the door, blindly stumbling towards the student parking lot. Maria glances after him guiltily, torn between sticking around to congratulate Melinda and going after Phil. The latter is more noticeable, she figures, so it’s with a pained smile on her face that she exchanges high-fives with Andrew and gives Melinda a celebratory hug. 

But Melinda’s nothing if not observant, and Phil’s clear absence causes the smile to slide off of her face faster than oil on a metal block. “Where’s –?” she asks, and starts towards the door only to be stopped by an apologetic Maria. 

“I wouldn’t,” she says, quiet but firm, and Melinda wants to ask how Maria knows,  _ why  _ Maria knows something she doesn’t, but Andrew’s arm is around her and everyone’s cheering and she’s  _ got  _ to grin it and bear it, hold the card up for everyone to see and hope that Phil will tell her what’s going on later that night. 

But when she inquisitively clicks her flashlight three times later that night, for only the third time in her life, Melinda gets nothing back at all. 

* * *

The lights flash into Phil’s bedroom night after night – silent pleas to come out to the bridge that he steadfastly ignores by simply hanging another sheet over the window before going back to his history readings. Some nights, he thinks he can hear her outside his side of the house, recounting the day’s events and dramas and pleading for him to come out. (He buys earplugs, and after a couple of days, Melinda seems to get that hint, too.) 

He even opens the door sometimes to a still-steaming cup of tea, the little green dinosaur steeper smiling serenely up at him as if imbued with all of the love and affection Melinda usually imparted in her one-liners and barbs. The bitterness of the brew does its best to edge out the despair and yearning inside of his heart, knowing that as soon as he breaks, even dares to stick his head outside, he’ll finally have to confront the idea that Andrew and Melinda are together. 

(The notes Melinda leaves beside each fresh cup remain untouched, stacked up in a pile next to the snack box on the shelf. Looking at her impeccably neat handwriting is almost like hearing her voice, with just as much hurt attached to it – but Phil can’t find it in himself to throw them away.) 

Maria is the one that shows up the most often, the two of them often forsaking their homework in his room to simply stare at the ceiling in hopes that they’ll figure out where exactly their lives went wrong.

_ “You ever think we’re being too dramatic about this?” Phil asks one afternoon as they lie on the bed, Taylor Swift’s _ folklore _ blaring out of the small speaker Maria had brought along. “I mean, we’re high school juniors. We still have the rest of our lives to find someone again.”  _

_ Maria offers him a pained grin. “Being in love with your best friend is a poisonous drug no matter what age you are,” she says bitterly, and the way the words fall out of her mouth tell Phil that she’s not just talking about his crisis with Melinda. “Maybe we’re lucky that we know what it’s like already.”  _

His grades have never been better. But his spirits have never been worse. 

It’s the night before homecoming, Maria having departed a few hours ago with a solid argument to convince them to go to homecoming regardless of their romantic lives (‘We paid all that money for that shit, plus, I guarantee you there’s going to be at least one cheater exposed. And if we don’t like it, we can ditch and go get ice cream, okay?’), and Phil’s brain is just about to ooze out of his nostrils from studying when he hears chatter downstairs. Figuring it’s most likely a last-minute stop-by from one of their neighbors, he’s about to re-immerse himself back into the wonders that are the long-ingrained battles of the American Revolution when there’s a sharp knock on his door. 

“What, did you forget –” Any comment that would’ve followed simply plops to the ground when Phil opens it to see Melinda, dripping wet from the rain outside. “Mel,” he says instead, and surprise is the least of what’s on his mind right now. “You know, you could’ve just gone through the footbridge –”

“And have you ignore me again? I don’t think so,” Despite his frosty silence, he’s still her best friend, so it’s without a word that he automatically grabs a sweatshirt from his closet and hands it to her. “Did I do something wrong, Phil?” she asks again when she’s managed to stop dripping water on the floor. “We haven’t talked since Andrew asked me to homecoming.” 

“Has it been that long? I’m sorry, Mel, it’s really just all of APUSH, it’s getting to me and I –”

“Phil.” The utterance is sharp, barbed and laced with hurt. “Phil,” Melinda says again, placing a hand on his shoulder and flinching when he pulls away. “Phil, please, just tell me what’s going on, you’ve got the both of us worried.” 

“I said I was  _ fine _ , Melinda,” It’s his turn to be sharp now, and she can’t help but inhale at the usage of her full name. It’s something he never uses, not even when she’s doing reckless things, so to use it now… “You can tell Andrew I’m fine, too. No need for him to worry about me when he’s got everything else on his plate.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got barely anything and I’m worried to death.” Cautiously, she reaches for his shoulder again, hang hanging in midair. “You said you’d tell me if anything came up, Phil, and you know I won’t judge you for anything, you’re my best –” 

“Don’t say it.” He can’t hear her say it. He can’t. Not when he’s got to spend the rest of his life playing second fiddle to the only man he hates liking. 

“Don’t say what?” 

“That you’re my best friend.” _Not when I’ve always wanted something more._ _Not when the chances of that have pretty much all gone to shit._

“Well, you are,” Melinda says, confused, “I don’t know why I _ wouldn’t _ say it, I love everything about you –” 

“But that’s the problem!” Phil exclaims, and she flinches, her small frame practically swimming in his sweatshirt. “That’s the problem,” he repeats, making sure he doesn’t scare her again. “You love me, but I’m _ in _ love with you.” Silence. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was old enough to figure out what love was,” he rants, and he paces back and forth in the room without really looking at her. “I’ve been in love with you since you started making me tea Saturday mornings before my baseball games. Since you almost punched Von Strucker in the jaw in seventh grade when he told me Captain America was useless.” The memories come faster now, blinking to life as his pace grows. “You knew I loved history so much you got your mom to tell me about Chinese history when we didn’t cover it in the textbook. You’re the one who spent weeks trying to find a decent instant coffee I liked before trying to switch me to tea. You’re the one that picks me back up, Mel, even when I don’t think I can. You want to know why I don’t date? Because nobody could make me feel the way you do, Mel. No one.” The last bit is exclaimed with an emotional hand-wring before Phil sighs heavily. “And now Andrew’s the one that wants you.”

“You told him to write me a card.” 

“Of course I told him to write you a card, Mel, if there was anyone I thought would be great for you, it’d be Andrew.” Down the road it would be someone different, he was sure, but if he could make both of his friends happy at the same time, why wouldn’t he? “He’s a great guy, and I know you like him, so I sat on my feelings and told him to write you a goddamned card. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for him to ask you.” That he’s truly sorry for – it was her moment, and regardless of his feelings, he should’ve been there. “It just...it just all got a little too much for me.” 

He chances a look at Melinda then, and for once, the normally unreadable expression on her face is quite clear: was it that they weren’t best friends, she would slap him. Probably for the fact that he’s just ruined the  _ one  _ good thing she’s had in a long while, he’s sure. But the words that come out of her mouth are decidedly different: “You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met, you know that?” 

“I mean...yeah? I did?” Who  _ else  _ would’ve been idiotic enough to blurt out that they were in love with their best friend? Especially when said best friend was practically in a relationship with someone else. “Was that whole rant not a clear sign of that?” 

“No, not like that.” Melinda stands, gently taking Phil’s arm to stop him from pacing. “Come on. I’ll make you a cup of tea.” 

The rain is still boring down when they emerge onto the footbridge, and Melinda wastes no time in alighting the kettle and carefully assembling two steepers. “Thanks for making me tea, by the way,” Phil tells her, her cool reaction to his confession turning him sheepish. “It helped me a lot.” 

“Go sit” is all she tells him, and the rain and the sound of boiling water are the only two things that fill the silence as he settles into his chair. Finally, Melinda hands him a cup of tea, the same dinosaur steeper smiling at him as before. “I said no.” 

Phil almost sloshes his tea into his lap, a last-minute rectification in his posture saving his pajama pants from a sodden, hot mess. “What do you  _ mean _ , you said no?” After having given Andrew advice, after having sat on his feelings with all of the force of a full-grown elephant – she’d said  _ no _ ? “You looked like you were going to say yes when I…” When he’d left out of cowardice. “When you read the end of the card.” 

“I hugged him after I finished reading the card,” Melinda says, sipping her tea, “and I told him that it was really sweet of him to ask me to homecoming, and I’d go, but I was really in love with someone else.” 

So nothing would change – and he would watch Melinda pursue someone else, only this time sequestered further on the sidelines because it was someone he didn’t know. “That’s cool,” he volunteers, and her answering glare warms his heart. (He’s missed Melinda glares.) “Am I, um...am I gonna get to know him?” 

Melinda sighs deeply, closing her eyes and counting backwards from ten. It’s Phil’s turn to frown, and he racks his brain for anything he might’ve missed. Had she simply said it to dissuade Andrew? Had he used the wrong pronoun? “You  _ dumbass, _ ” she says again, and sets her tea down to reach and cradle his face. “Do I need to spell it out for you? Because it’s you. Y-O-U. I’m going to homecoming with Andrew as friends because I’m in love with  _ you _ , Phil. Have been for god knows how long now.” 

There was no way. The universe was playing the worst prank on him; he’d wake up any second now to either his alarm clock or Maria prodding him awake. “You’re joking.” It was the only explanation. 

“I would  _ never. _ ” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Well, why didn’t you tell  _ me _ ?”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same,” Phil shrugs, and Melinda frowns. It’s almost adorable, the way her eyebrows and nose crinkle. “Mel. You’re smart, you’re witty, you’re beautiful...any guy would be lucky to have you.” 

“Yeah, well the only one I want is the biggest history dork in River’s End,” she hums, and the same telltale smile is back on her face again. “You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?” 

“I could put in a word or two.” Their faces are still inches apart, and he can’t help but think if he were to simply close the gap between them… “Mel?” 

“Yeah, Phil?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“You dork,” she mutters, but this time she’s kissing him, warmth and green tea and  _ joy  _ slotting themselves into place, and when she pulls back, hand still curled around the front of his pajama shirt, Phil feels like he’s finally arrived home. “I’m in love with you, Phil Coulson. And I’m so glad I am.” 

“I love you too, Mel,” he whispers back, and he’s content to let the moment sit between them, their little bubble in the place where they’d formed their entire life together. “I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm taking prompts from [this](https://justanalto.tumblr.com/post/622842304685834240/300-prompts) and [this](https://justanalto.tumblr.com/post/623191689172058112/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a) list if there's something you'd like to see!


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